


Fade With The Dawn

by TheSchubita



Series: Darkmoon Tales [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (only a bit), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderbending, Intrigue, Mildly Dubious Consent, Name-Calling, Prophetic Visions, Regina has her own agency, Roger is genderbent, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: Or: Regina is to be married to a cruel King; she has her own reasons to comply.Still, the wedding night isn't exactly great.At least, until the King's bastard son accidently sees them.He has the same eyes as the boy from her visions..Prompt from the Must Fuck Weekend: "Arranged Marriage/Wedding Night Must Be Consumed"
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Other(s)
Series: Darkmoon Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746454
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	Fade With The Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is actually an AU of something I already have planned. Also, I quite shamelessly incoorperated some world-building of an original story, as well as some poems ;).
> 
> Thank you, @Tikini and @emma_and_orlando, for hosting this!
> 
> ALSO please read the tags, this might be sensitive or triggering to some people.
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

Regina stands next to the old king of Rhee, and she’s glad for her veil – even if it’s not her custom. The people of Rhee are much more conservative, downright backwards since it has been conquered.

_Right_.

The conquerors, coming down from the Red Mountains, abandoning their hollowed-out ancestral home centuries ago, after Asteria the Champion had disappeared on her quest, leaving her home, Darkmoon weak – and the Rhee had come.

Wild, barbaric people, hungry for the lush world of the old Moonland, beating down the defenses until they’d won the land, renaming it after their first king. Only the heart of Darkmoon remained standing, surrounded by the misty Moonwood. And Rhee had thrived over these past few centuries, putting the people of Darkmoon – her people – in a difficult, isolated way of life.

And now she has to stand here, next to the weak descendant of greater conquerors, aging and coarse and despicable, while Regina is called a savage. _Less than_.

_“I have seen it, my granddaughter. You must go to Rhee, and marry their King; the rest of your path will present itself to you. For the Rise of Darkmoon.”_

The words of her beloved grandmother, in touch with the veil between the worlds, echo in Regina’s mind, as she stands in a room full of hostile strangers, pretty as a dead flower, smiling and letting the people think she is nothing but a sweet, empty-headed Princess of an impoverished land.

_Regina howls into the darkness of the Moonwood, full of rage. She is only eight, and already, the worst fate has been presented to her. Her grandmother is the Night-Eye, priestess chosen by the Lady of the Starless Night, Lady Magic. Their goddess, the one that chose Asteria of the blood of Darkmoon, so long ago_. _Regina will be_ heard _._

_Through the river-gate, to the caves of Zaria the First, and then to the Meadow of the Fallen Star, Regina wanders through the Moonwood, only her cousin John with her as she calls upon the Starless Lady._

_She is given the answer as she looks into the Silver Eyes of the Fallen Star, just as her beloved ancestor Asteria did, once._

_She sees a boy with wild curls and eyes like a forest, kind and gentle, dutiful. She sees a child,_ her _child. Sees Darkmoon rise again._

_The boy sees her too._

The vision presented to her was clear, as was the whisper through the trees, the Starless Lady granting her a glimpse to her future.

But this old, coarse King next to Regina isn’t the boy Regina saw, all those years ago.

Nevertheless, she makes herself blush as the King takes her hand in his wrinkled one. She beams as she speaks the vows, makes herself appear shy and eager as the ribbon is fastened around their hands.

John stands next to her, eyes expressionless, her ever faithful protector, her life-long companion. They both know their duty.

_For the Rise of Darkmoon._

.

Over the years, she’s heard of the Rhee King’s cruelty, his close-sightedness. All of his marriages have been cursed, leaving the Rhee without an heir; almost no children were conceived of his marriages, and those that were died within their first years of life, sickly and weak. And for over ten years, none of his wives, or his whores, has swelled with child.

Only a bastard son, Brian, has survived, but he has no right to the throne, his mother little more than a whore.

Regina has never understood it; from what she heard, Brian was valiant and kind, not to mention intelligent, cunning even at times. In Darkmoon, blood was blood.

When Regina meets Brian’s eyes in the cheering crowd, he feels familiar to her as his eyes follow her for the entire evening. He doesn’t look at Regina’s pretty rose dress once, doesn’t care for her enthralling appearance, all of her edges softened; the Rhee want a demure little thing, not the warrior-princess Regina truly is.

But Brian only looks into her eyes, his gaze heavy and wary, as if he’s searching for something.

The entire time, Regina’s chest squeezes in yearning.

.

“You know your duties, don’t you, pretty thing?” Regina smiles through her clenched teeth.

“Of course, my Lord Husband,” she says in the softest voice she manages. She has trained for years, and not just with a sword.

Her husband hums, shrugging off his embroidered shirt, as he approaches the bed, eyes roaming over her. Regina has chosen a beautiful, alluring nightgown, almost see-through, in a rich, red silk. She knows how she has to hold herself to complete the image the King wants; a pretty, little virgin, for him to defile, to fill with the male heir he’s so desperate for.

Not that Regina is a virgin; as if she’d let that brute sour her experiences for any future ones.

It only matters what the King sees, what he wants to see. Regina is good at deceiving the minds of men, to get what she wants.

“My wife,” the King savors the new title as he crawls on the bed, rough hands rubbing at her ankles. “My Queen,” he smirks, and well, Regina isn’t going to lie; she _does_ like the sound of that – just not _his_ Queen. She blushes prettily for him as she exaggerates her shiver at his touch.

“You honor me,” she whispers, shifting as she looks at him through her eyelashes. One of her sleeves slide down her shoulder, exposing her milky skin there.

The King purrs in pleasure at the sight, shifting closer, bracketing her with his arms and legs on the bed. “Of course, my sweet Queen; I bought you off a crumbling Kingdom, to live the best of lives. It is the highest honor.”

Regina sincerely doubts that, but she looks down with a shy smile.

“And you must honor me,” the King says, voice dark all of a sudden. His hand falls on her stomach, pressing down as he looks at her intently. “You will honor me in the way you were meant to; on your back, with your pretty legs spread, and giving me an heir.”

_Bah_. It’s not like he’s creative. Regina is bored of him already, but she exhales in an excited, nervous little stutter, looking at the King with wide eyes.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” she breathes, makes herself squirm at his intense gaze.

“Is that so,” the King states, leaning back, mustering her. “You know, pretty,” he says, playing with a lock of her long hair. “You look remarkably like your grandmother in her youth – oh, I knew her well,” he grins at Regina’s faintly surprised face. “Most beautiful, cunning woman I’ve ever known, but that woman was too stubborn for her own good – marrying underneath her station for _love_ ,” he snorts, hand now circling Regina’s calf. “She could have been my Queen,” and his eyes are suddenly dark and vicious, and Regina knows the King, while aging, is not yet broken by age, the spark of his infamous cruelty still present. “You could have been my granddaughter, as well.”

Regina’s shudder is real, this time, as his hands wander further up her leg, pushing the dark silk back inch by inch.

“But then,” he laughs, the sound condescending, almost cruel. “I wouldn’t get the pleasure of _having_ you hm?”

“I – I suppose not,” she stutters, making herself look like she’s intimidated by him, as she suspect he wants, when really, she’d like nothing more than stab his eyes out.

“A shame, though,” he sighs. “You look like her, but there is nothing of her sharp wit in you. Pretty, but not much else.”

Regina feels both affronted and proud; her little act seems to work, but she doesn’t take pleasure of being called _dim_ – especially by him.

“I’m sorry, my Lord Husband, if I have displeased you,” she simpers, bowing her head in false shame.

“You will address me as _My King_ when we’re in bed,” he tells her, and she almost, _almost_ rolls her eyes at his inflated ego. “Lucky for you, you don’t need a sharp mind to fulfill your purpose; only what’s between your legs.”

“Yes, My King,” she replies dutifully.

“Well, then,” he says, stroking his long beard. “At least you seem to know your place. I wonder, does it please you? Being in my bed, about to give yourself to a true King?”

“Of course, my King,” she intones, her eyes wide and appearing eager. “You’re a King of Kings.” Perhaps she’s laying it on a bit too thick, but, _oh well_.

“I see, my little wife,” he says, sitting back. “Tell me, girl, do you know how to pleasure yourself?”

At that, Regina frowns uncertainly; she doesn’t know what the King wants to hear. At her expression, the King chuckles, waving a hand.

“I don’t believe in punishing a girl for taking her pleasure; we’re all born of the flesh of this earth.”

“I – yes, my King, I – I do,” she mumbles, looking aside like a prude little virgin, blushing fiercly.

“Good,” the King purrs, leaning to sit back on the bed, looking at her. “Then show me how pleased you are to bed a King; until you’re dripping wet out of your pretty little cunt.”

She just stares at him, incredulous. The fucker wants a show to stroke his own ego. By the Lady Night, but he truly is abhorrent. Regina’s almost glad she’s here instead of a _real_ virgin girl, scared out of her wits.

“I –“ she says, pretending to be shy, voice shaking (from anger, but he can interpret it however he wants).

“Get to it, girl,” he says, impatient. “I don’t like to fuck my whores dry, and using oil will decrease chances of conception.”

Sure, because that’s why the King hasn’t had an heir in ten years; _oil_.

Regina shuffles back, leaning back onto the pillows slowly, hands fisted into her silk gown. If the King wants a show, she’ll give him one he won’t forget. Without taking her eyes off him, she slowly spreads her legs, as if she were terrified, insecure. She shifts her gown up her thighs, until it pools on her stomach, her cunt teasingly exposed, thighs twitching in an act of shame.

“Let me see you, girl,” the King says, chest heaving. “Spread your legs properly.” Regina complies, legs falling further apart, until she’s spread out in front of him. She keeps still, letting the King take her in.

“My-my King,” she says softly, lets her breath catch. “I – I don’t – it’s not _proper_ ,” she whines, face flaming as she looks to the side.

“Of course it is, pretty,” he grins. “You’re my wife, now. Mine to do as I please. And I want to see you all desperate for my cock, for my seed.”

Regina closes her eyes, so she doesn’t have to roll them.

“Well? Go on, then, girl,” the King grunts. “Put your hands on your pretty, pink cunt.” He watches hungrily as she does, her hands purposefully skittish as she looks to the side, her fingers brushing over her folds, and she lets herself jolt. She hears her new husband hum in pleasure, and she lets herself appear growing bolder, caressing over her cunt teasingly, trying to get herself into the mood.

It’s not easy with this coarse man watching; she isn’t aroused _at all_ , and she won’t get there like this. She bites her lip, a finger circling over her clit, fingernail catching the nub there, and she gasps quietly.

“That’s it,” the King murmurs from across the bed, and Regina grunts in annoyance, closing her eyes again. “Get yourself all slick for me, my pretty little wife.”

Regina tries to think of something else – someone else, _anyone_ else. She thinks of her first time, with the blushing, fumbling maid – Regina may have been a virgin, but she had been a _determined_ one. She remembers her roughened hands, how lovely her perky tits had felt against Regina’s tongue, against her own tits.

She sighs, sinking into the fantasy, lets her memory take her back of a curious mouth suckling at her cunt, remembers that sharp jolt of pleasure. Regina subconsciously copies the feeling, beginning to rut into her hand.

Somewhere across her, the King makes a pleased sound, and she can hear his clothes rustling, but she’s lost in her own little fantasies now, tossing her head back.

She remembers the knight she’d fucked in his tent when they were out in the wild, moaning at the memory of his pretty cock stuffing her full, the slide inside her delicious as he’d teased a calloused finger against her clit until she had been writhing on top of him.

“Pretty thing,” the King grunts, and dazedly, Regina opens her eyes, looks at the aging monarch, watches as he jerks himself off to the sight of her, lying spread-eagled on his bed, chest heaving and thighs twitching. “Play with your little tits, come on, now.”

Regina sighs, but indulges him, pulling down her nightgown until the fabric shifts over her tits. She makes herself blush and squirm as the King’s eyes hungrily roam over her.

Again, she closes her eyes, losing herself in her mind as she touches herself, and like this, it’s easy to pretend the noises across her are from the lovers from her past. She imagines them under her, over her, sees their eyes, feels their hands as they drive her to her pleasure.

And then, the image shifts.

She sees the forest-eyes from her vision, dark with lust, as strong hands hold her down, a lithe, yet strong body fucking into her, and she can’t help the mewl escaping her as the boy – no, the _man_ , now – holds her in place as their bodies join and she moans out –

_Soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes._

_Brian._

_The boy,_ her _boy, was –_

She gasps, eyes flying open as she arches off the soft bed, rutting against her hand, only moments away from –

A broad hand comes down onto her cunt, the sharp slap stinging on her already tingling skin there, and she _whines_ , body curling into herself.

“Now, now,” the King chuckles, tugging her hands away from herself, pushing her legs apart again. “While you make a pretty sight like that, I must insist you’ll take your pleasure off me, and only me.” He tugs Regina up until she’s sitting up, Then, he shuffles forward, having taken off his breeches, kneeling completely naked in front of her.

“My King,” she mumbles, voice soft so she doesn’t betray her frustration, as her cunt still throbs in need. “What –“

The King smirks down at her, stroking his cock. He moves until he’s bracketing her hips with his knees, his cock now inches in front of her, and Regina can’t quite hide the wince, knowing what’s coming.

“Pleasure me,” he commands, his hand falling into her hair. Regina lets him guide her until her closed lips are brushing against the head of his cock, and she looks up at the man, eyes wide under her eyelashes. “Open your mouth.”

Hesitatingly, as expected of her little virgin act, she parts her lips, and the King doesn’t hesitate to sink his cock into her mouth. The choke that follows is no act from her part; the taste is disgusting, almost putrid, the coarse hair from his crotch sticking to her face as the King hold her in place with a hand twisted in her hair.

She gags when she feels his cock twitch inside her mouth, and the King laughs. “I apologize, my sweet little wife,” he chuckles, moving her head back until only half of his length is in her mouth. “You have a most irresistible little mouth. Does it excite you, being defiled by your Lord Husband, by your _King_?”

_Not her King – never_ her _King_ , Regina thinks with a vicious vehemence, but she whines pathetically around his cock, glad he can’t see her glare as he rolls his head back, sinking into her fully again.

“That’s what I thought, little Queen,” he grunts, holding her in place with both hands curled into her hair painfully, uncaring about the little frantic noises of protest she makes as he fucks her mouth. “Well, touch yourself, then.”

The buzz of her earlier pleasure is almost gone, but her cunt is still wet, and her fingers slide easily between her folds as she does her best to hold herself still, to let this King of a line of usurpers take what he wants from her.

Regina hates it – hates _him_. But there is little she can do; Darkmoon is crumbling, the King wasn’t wrong about that, and their little army cannot beat the Rhee. If their lands should be returned to them, one way or another, a different approach is needed.

_She_ is the different approach.

Their blood on the throne, their influence – and Darkmoon shall rise again; that was what her grandmother, the Night-Eye had seen. Regina’s child with hazel eyes like the forest on the throne, uniting their lands again.

The King has blue eyes.

“Mh, what a fantastic little bride you are,” the King mumbles, bringing Regina back to the present as he slips his cock out of his mouth. Drool spills over her chin, and with faint disgust, she moves to wipe it off – only to be intercepted by the King, gripping her wrist bruisingly tight. “Very well trained,” he praises. “Leave it – I like the way you look,” he tells her, and Regina nods.

“Do I – do I please you, my King?” She whispers, her shyness, her eagerness a pretense.

One the King falls for, all too easily. “Indeed,” he chuckles, pushing her back into the pillows, scooting back. Regina momentarily tenses as hands on her knees force her legs apart, before she jolts at the feel of thick, coarse fingers rubbing at her cunt, just this side of too-painful to be pleasurable.

All too soon, the King moves closer, covering her with his own heavy body, and she feels the blunt head of his cock brushing against her. She hides her face into her pillow so he doesn’t see her grimace, fakes a whine.

“It’s alright, my pretty little wife,” he chuckles. “You’re mine now – and as long as you give me what I need –“ he groans as he sinks inside her, and Gods, it’s a good thing Regina has done this before, because the King moves too quick, it would be excruciating for an _actual_ virgin. She fakes another whine, sobs a little as her fingers curl into the sheets. “– I’ll take very good care of you.”

He stills, looking down at her as she exaggerates the twitches of her body, her chest heaving. She can feel his gaze watching the bounce of her tits.

“Here we are,” he says, voice low as he teasingly jerks his hips into her, and Regina knows her cue to gasp, eyes widening. “How does it feel, pretty girl?”

“I – _oh_ ,” she makes herself mewl as the King gives another thrust. “It – it _hurts_ ,” she cries, batting her eyes up at him, her eyes wet. Regina has never been more thankful for the ability to cry on command than right now – the King eats up the picture of his desperate, defiled little virgin wife like a starving dog would a steak.

“It only hurts at first,” he mumbles, lowering himself until his entire weight is on top of her, mouthing at her neck. To his credit, he seems to try to slow down for her benefit, even if it would still painful, were Regina still innocent. “But you’ll enjoy it soon enough, little wife,” he grunts, and she gasps prettily at another thrust, this one more powerful. “You’ll enjoy the feel of a King’s cock inside of you – fulfilling your purpose to me,” he says, picking up speed in his rhythm.

“M-my King,” she whimpers, hooking her legs around his waist. “ _Please_ –“

“Good girl,” he tells her, as if she was a _horse_ – but her sneer goes unnoticed; the King buries his head into her shoulder, sucking marks into the skin there – marking her for the world to see. His arms wind around her back, pulling her flush to him as he abandons all pretense of trying to be gentle, fucking her in earnest now, the slide of his cock almost brutal.

Regina makes herself cry out at the appropriate moments, glad she doesn’t have to transform her face into one of reluctant pleasure. Her arms are looped loosely around his shoulder, her pretty little moans encouraging him, it seems.

She hates the feel of his body, burdened by age, sliding against hers. The King continues to whisper filth into her ear, but at this point, Regina disconnects, lets her body move in tandem with his, lets the sound of her faked pleasure escape her lips as once again, she descends into her own world. In a way, she pities the aging King on top of her, desperately rutting into her, past his prime – and it shows. Once, his thrusts might’ve been powerful, his rhythm relentless.

Now, he’s heaving on top of her like he’d been fucking her for hours already.

Regina takes note of this in an absentminded way as she looks at the ceiling, her eyes unseeing. Instead, hazel eyes flash in her vision again, and the King’s unpleasant voice transforms to another – the filth in her ears transforms into something soothing, the low, gentle voice of the one it belongs to sparking pleasure low in her gut.

With another thrust, her head lolls to the side, and her eyes flutter open just enough to catch a glimpse of the door.

Hazel eyes meet her own.

She jolts, surging in surprise – but the eyes don’t disappear; Brian stands behind the almost closed door, eyes wide, clearly frozen where he stands.

_How long has he been watching?_

Regina can’t help the little teasing smile forming on her lips, now focused on Brian. She arches into her husbands touch more, hams up the little moans and gasps, as if she were dying without the continued touch.

The King grunts, clearly liking her sudden vigor, but Regina barely hears the grunt of _“Knew you were a little slut,”_ her eyes never leaving Brian’s, whose gaze bores into her with just as much intensity.

She does notice the King’s moans growing in volume, the rhythm of their coupling growing frantic, and she responds in kind, fucking back against the King, exaggerating her own whimpers as she looks at Brian as if in challenge. She sees the young man swallow, shifting where he stands.

_“A son, give me a son –“_

Then, the King slams into her, and she winces, eyes momentarily falling shut in a grimace as she feels the man on top of her spill inside of her. Hands tug at her hair painfully, and she gasps, exposing her neck.

“Kiss me, my little wife,” the King grunts against her lips, and Regina has barely parted her lips that the King licks into her mouth, and she almost gags, the smell of wine overwhelming. The King’s entire weight sags on top of her, and Regina isn’t weak, but like this, she has no escape, no leverage, and the man’s indulgence in food and wine over the decades makes itself known.

Eventually, he heaves himself off her, and Regina turns her head, searching for –

Brian was gone.

Had he even been there? Or had Regina imagined him?

She frowns, shifting as she tries to get up.

The King pushes her back again, before lifting her lower body until she’s folded in half, knees pressed to her chest. She frowns up at him, part in confusion, part in annoyance.

“We must ensure your conception, my sweet little wife. You’ll remain like this for an hour,” he informs her, as he guides her hands behind the back of her knees, so she’ll hold herself in position.

It’s not particularly comfortable.

The King chuckles, thumbing alongside her exposed cunt, making her shiver.

“What an eager little thing you are,” he says appraisingly. “So wet, still,” he chuckles, before swatting her arse playfully, making her jump, only barely minding herself enough to not glare outright.

“My King pleases me,” she says demurely. “I hope I – I could satisfy his Majesty as well,” she mumbles, looking at the King through her eyelashes.

He throws his head back and laughs, patting the back of her thighs. “You may write your Lady Grandmother that her prized broodmare has pleased me very much, indeed.”

Regina shoots him a baleful glare, but he slides off the bed, making his way to the sitting area, where cheese and fruits, along with salted meats are prepared.

Regina holds herself in place, bears the King’s amused gaze as he eats and drinks without a care in the world. Time passes, and Regina is sure an hour has long since passed, but she keeps still, even as her legs begin to cramp, her back tingling in pain from the prolonged position.

“You’ll make a good wife,” the King tells her as he motions her to get up. Regina’s legs are trembling as she stumbles on the first few steps. “Come here,” he commands, and Regina sighs internally, but moves in a show of obedience, suppressing the groan as he directs her to sit on his lap. She can feel his cock, already hardening, rubbing against her slick cunt.

“I wish nothing but to please you, my King,” she simpers, pretending to enjoy the way he ruts up to her, her hands resting on his shoulders.

“I know you do, little wife,” he purrs, massaging her hip. “How about you get on your knees for me, please me some more?”

Regina does. She spends hours in the Kings chambers, letting him arrange her like a puppet.

She doesn’t come one, her cunt throbbing with desperation as she finally is allowed to take her leave.

.

Later, so late the blackness of the night already turns into a dark blue, she finds herself in her own chambers, thankfully a good distance away from the King’s. John generously fills her third cup of wine – not the swill the Rhee call ‘nectar of the Gods’, but rather their own, much sweeter and richer, straight from their grandmother’s cellar.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t just – just cut off his head, cousin,” John hiccups, looking at the twin moons in the sky, almost entirely disappearing behind the horizon. “Would’ve saved you the agony of sleeping with that swine.”

“I know,” she sighs, throwing back the cup in one long gulp. “But grandmother says –“

“Fuck her,” John grunts, and Regina raises an eyebrow at him. “She’s getting old – and besides, it’s not what you saw, so –“

“I never told her what I saw,” Regina shrugs, and it’s John’s turn to raise an incredulous eyebrow at her. “It’s – it wasn’t an ordinary vision – the boy, he – he _saw_ me, he reached out, and I could _feel_ him, John,” she sighed. “The veil parted for us.”

John looks into his own cup, swirling the wine in deep thought. “Soul meets soul when eyes meet eyes,” he mumbles, echoing one of the holy inscriptions in their temple. Regina almost _hears_ the old, barmy wizard, can see the twinkling eyes as he recites the words to her, his voice heavy with the weight of his centuries. “Fucking O’hara,” John grumbles, echoing Regina’s thoughts.

Regina chuckles. “I think I know who the boy – the man is,” she says softly, looking at the fading stars.

“You’ve seen him?” John says, surprised. “Who?”

“The King’s bastard – Brian,” she says, and John snorts disbelievingly. “His eyes – the same eyes, like looking into the Moonwoods,” she sighs, a bit dreamily.

“But he’s _that man’s_ son,” John protests, looking disgusted.

“Mh, but he barely looks like him – and when I saw him tonight – there was a thrum there, like – like magic,” she whispers.

“Oh, Gods, you’re infatuated,” John whines, moving to pour himself another cup, before he forgoes that, instead drinking straight from the bottle. “Starless Lady help us.”

Regina swats him.

“I’m _saying_ he has a touch of magic, you little prick,” she scolds. “Whoever his mother was, it’s _her_ blood that sings to me. Not his,” she says with a shudder, the memory of the King on top of her still fresh.

“Just be careful, cousin,” John says, suddenly sounding too sober. “Just because Lady Magic shows her favorites visions of what’s to come, doesn’t mean they don’t _suffer_.”

They both sit in silence, dwelling in the story of their ancestor, Asteria of Darkmoon, chosen for greatness, falling into darkness and despair, lost forever to time.

No one knew of her fate, not even O’hara, who had travelled with the Champion in their youth.

“Don’t worry, John,” she says softly, but resolutely. “I have a feeling.” _‘I won’t end up like poor Asteria.’_

“Because those have always turned out so well,” he jabs, but sighs tiredly a moment later, stretching.

“I’ll be alright. I – I think I know what I have to do – why I’m here,” she says, eyes far away, drowning in the shine of the stars, in the beyond.

“If you say so, Reg,” John mumbles, getting up. His hand squeezes her shoulder, and Regina is so, so glad he’s here with her in this sea of hostile strangers. She reaches up, squeezing his hand.

Both look into the greying sky, watch until the stars go out, and dawn creeps over the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts ;)


End file.
